assistant-librarian to the Duke of Orleans, under Delavigne, at the princely salary of £100 a year! The author of "Henri Trois" was the lion of Paris for the winter of 1829; Deveria made an engraving of him; David of Angers a medallion. "Nothing was wanting to my glory," says Dumas frankly,—"not even that little shade of the ridiculous which always accompanies literary reputations." Wild stories were repeated in "classic" circles, of the triumphant orgies of the Romantics,—how they had danced about a bust of Racine, crying exultantly that they had "done for him"; how they were calling for the heads of the Academicians on chargers, and so forth. No wonder the Seven appealed to the King!
"Henri Trois," indeed, was a revelation and a revolution. It was a romance drawn from French history; its characters were real in origin, and true to life in their words and deeds; instead of dull declamatory couplets, and a tawdry, meaningless plot, the audience was enthralled by the rapid, merciless development of a story of human passion. The love of St Mégrin for the Duchess of Guise, the Duke's jealousy of St Mégrin, both private and political, the vivid picture of Henri III. and his mignons and the everyday life of the French court—the series of dramatic scenes which develop the intrigue, until St Mégrin goes to the assigna-
